


The First Christmas

by KittyDorkling



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Biblical stuff idk, Christianity, Christmas, Gen, Pre-Slash, the Birth of Christ
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:59:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21938599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittyDorkling/pseuds/KittyDorkling
Summary: Aziraphale is in charge of arrangements for the First Christmas, and Crowley just happens to be in town to help celebrate.  Pre-relationship, which is to say they're pretending not to be friends.  But they do like each other.  They doooo.  :3Note: this ficlet is 100% based on a idea mentioned by Neil Gaiman on Tumblr which charmed me so much I wanted to write it down.  It is not my original idea on any level.
Comments: 13
Kudos: 24





	The First Christmas

It was a nice bed, but it definitely wasn’t the one Crawley had been expecting to wake up in.

His bed, for the past week at least, had been in a room in an inn on completely the other side of Bethlehem, where the lighting was bad enough that no-one really saw what colour your eyes were and the grape brandy was amazing. He’d chosen the place for both reasons.

And it was really pure coincidence that he’d bumped into his hereditary enemy the day before, and offered to share a bottle of said amazing grape brandy, which was always more fun than drinking alone, after all. Aziraphale had barely even pretended to resist. He looked wealthy this time, sumptuously dressed as some kind of rich merchant in expensively pale robes untouched by desert dirt, and elated, so obviously excited about something that Crawley hadn’t even needed to ask what. As soon as they’d sat down in the inn’s public rooms and toasted their meeting, it had all spilled out of the angel at once, his hands fluttering with happy excitement, practically glowing in the dim corner where they sat.

“The most charming place, oh, the view of the hills from the largest suite is quite glorious, I could quite happily book it for myself on another occasion, but of course it isn’t for me, not tonight. Uriel says the family is making excellent time, so I thought I’d better get out of the way, but I’ve booked out the entire inn, just in case. The innkeeper is a charming fellow, too, so kind! There are rooms for the three Eastern Kings and all their retainers, whenever they get here, and a larger one downstairs where the shepherds can bunk, and there’s even a spot for some last-minute child with a drum that we had to fit in. Oh, it’s going to be wonderful!”

“So it’s tonight, then?” asked Crawley, refilling their glasses with a slosh. “The actual son of God?”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened. “I ought not to have told you,” he lamented, belatedly aghast.

“Ah, no, best you did. I’ll let Downstairs know I’m already on-site keeping tabs on things. You wouldn’t want them finding out from someone else and sending Hastur up here.”

“Heavens, no,” shuddered Aziraphale. “The smell alone.”

Crawley cackled, and waved the innkeeper over for another bottle. “Probably shouldn’t offer congratulations, but I can definitely drink to that.”

Aziraphale had giggled delightfully, his cheeks rosy with joy and alcohol, and all in all, it had been a very pleasant evening. Crawley had a vague recollection of Aziraphale insisting on returning to his own inn, despite being barely able to walk, and the two of them had staggered through Bethlehem’s backstreets careering between walls, as Crawley complained about how bright that bloody star was, and wondered aloud how exactly Upstairs had managed to make it work. 

“It shhouldn’t be there. Bad physsicss,” he insisted, shaking his head and accidentally getting hair in his mouth.

“S’a miracle,” slurred Aziraphale, leaning dangerously far back to squint up at it. “I ‘unno why there’s two of them though. Wash there two of them before?”

“You’re ssozzled, Angel,” sighed Crawley, and Aziraphale nodded cheerfully before sliding entirely to the ground.

“Joy to the World, I am,” agreed Aziraphale, apparently in no hurry to get back up. He slumped onto his side and frowned. “I say, Crawley, my legsh aren’t working. Is that your demonic work?”

Crawley groaned loudly. He ought to leave the angel there, but knew he wasn’t going to. It was bitterly cold out here at night, not to mention the many cutpurses with a sharp eye for strangers brought to town for the Census. Blessing heartily, he hefted Aziraphale up over his shoulder, lurching briefly under the weight. 

“Let’s get you to bed.”

“Ooh, promishes, promishesh,” giggled Aziraphale, and Crawley definitely wasn’t going to think too hard about _that_ statement. He dragged them both up the stairs of the remarkably silent inn, kicked open the door to a room which was luckily empty, and crashed out on the bed beside Aziraphale. 

Until now. It was daylight, and the angel had been entirely correct about the glorious sunshine that poured into the inn’s rooms, currently still rosy with dawn but extremely bright for all that. Crawley winced at it and sobered up with a grimace. 

“Fuck, fuck, _fuck!”_ exclaimed a familiar voice, and Aziraphale swept back into the room looking extremely upset indeed. His hair was still messed from bed and the clothes he had slept in looked rather less fancy now, wrinkled and stained with brandy spills and particularly filthy down one side from his brief acquaintance with the floor. He fell to his knees before a cupboard in the corner, flung open the doors, and began rummaging through it desperately.

“Angel?”

“You! You fiend!” exclaimed Aziraphale, rounding on Crawley wild-eyed as if he had forgotten the demon was even there. “This was your intention all along, I know it!”

“What are you talking about? What’s happened? I thought Operation Son of God was all tickety boo?”

Aziraphale fell back onto his heels and groaned piteously, running both hands through his hair. “They’re in the bloody stables, Crawley! I forgot to tell the Innkeeper who the booking was for so he told them he had no rooms available, but that there was space in with the animals if they were desperate, which they were, and now Our Lord manifest upon Earth is fast asleep in a food trough, of all things! It’s a disaster!”

“Are they all still down there, then?” asked Crawley, suddenly concerned as to how surrounded by Angelic Might he presently was. Not that Aziraphale would give him away, probably. Probably.

“Not all, no, my goodness, almost the entire choir went straight back to Head Office to tattle on me as soon as the sun rose. Mostly just some shepherds and the family. I can’t believe it, I thought I’d done so well, oh dear, I’m going to be in so much trouble, Crawley!”

“What are you doing in that cupboard?”

“I thought I could fetch them some blankets,” said Azriraphale morosely. “I don’t know.”

“I’ll help,” said Crawley at once. He bent down beside Aziraphale and started to sort through them. There were several in the cupboard, woven with bright patterns, most of them scratchy things that were probably more camel-hair than wool, but certainly softer than straw. Aziraphale snatched them from his arms and snorted furiously.

“Well now you’re being ridiculous. I’m not going to let you in to see him, you’re a demon!”

“And he’s a baby!” Crawley snapped back. “How long have you known me? I’m not going to hurt a baby!”

Aziraphale had the manners to look a little ashamed of himself. “No, I… I didn’t think you would. My sincere apologies, Crawley, it’s only that I’m a tad fraught just at the moment.”

“So I can help you carry blankets, can I?” He saw the flash of anxious concern on the Angel’s face, and sighed. “I promise not to do anything evil to him. Demon’s honour.”

“Or anyone else present,” said Aziraphale, though he was clearly giving in. The joke about demons having honour had flown right over his head, and Crawley wasn’t sure quite how he felt about that.

“Or anyone else present,” echoed Crawley. “I won’t do anything but look.”

Chewing his lip, the Angel relented. “Come along, then. I suppose it can’t make anything worse.”

Laden, they set off down dim, unlit hallways, the oil lamps burned out and the sunlight yet to penetrate the depths of the building. Crawley followed the Angel down stairs to the back of the inn, through several increasingly rough-hewn doorways and out into a bright courtyard teeming with sheep, herded by a young lad with a crook and a piercing whistle.

“Get ‘em back in the fields,” he said cheerfully, as the bleating throng flowed around Crawley and Aziraphale, almost knocking them off their feet. “He’s a good baby, isn’t he? I’ll come back later, see if I can bring them some cheese.”

“Jolly good,” said Aziraphale, his pile of blankets held up over his head, attempting to keep them out of the stampede’s way.

And then they were gone, and Crawley could see Aziraphale hadn’t been joking: it really was just a stable. It smelled like stable, mostly of straw and animal shit. There was a donkey drinking out of a bucket, and a man lying fast asleep against a cow, and some more men who looked like shepherds also asleep in a corner. And in the middle was a manger, with a little stool beside it, and a tired teenage girl seated on it, feeding her newborn baby.

“Mary,” said Aziraphale gently. “May we come in?”

“Hello sir,” she said, looking up. She detached the child from her breast, mopping his lips deftly and tweaking her dress back into place. “Yes, if you want to. He’s just ready for a nap, I think.”

Crawley drew closer as she laid the child down to sleep in the manger’s flattened hollow of straw and tucked a thin blanket around him. He settled pretty much instantly. His mouth hung just slightly open, his fists curled, his eyelids so thin they seemed translucently blue. Fragile and perfect, just the way all human lives started out. 

It was no secret what was in store for this particular human life. They might not be privy to the details, but in its broad strokes the Great Plan was familiar to Upstairs and Downstairs alike, and if it seemed unfathomably cruel to Crawley, well, what did he know. Aziraphale, the only being he could ever have tried to discuss it with, would just bluster and say it was ineffable.

The baby yawned, so impossibly cute that Crawley had to stifle the pathetic noise that rose in his throat. Maybe the whole shitshow didn't have to happen. Maybe Crawley could come up with some way out for the poor wee mite. Show him some alternatives, let him make his own choices. Crawley smiled at the thought.

“Leave it to me, kid,” he murmured.

Baby Jesus opened his eyes. 

It was a long time since Crawley had fallen from Her grace, and he didn’t miss it much. Deep down there was an ache, a loneliness to it, but it wasn’t as if he’d been particularly happy as an angel either. Presumably it was just how he was made, and wasn’t that something to ponder. Some things soothed it, temporarily at least, like really good alcohol or watching Aziraphale eat honeyed dates, or the satisfaction of tempting the deserving into bad deeds, or the way Aziraphale wiggled when he was happy, or the sky on a clear night.

Or looking into the eyes of Her Son, apparently. The wave of loving grace washed over him so powerfully he sucked in a shocked breath and had to take a step backwards. He loved Crawley, and it lanced through the demon with a joy so long-forgotten it felt closer to pain. He loved him so much, too much, much more than he deserved, and suddenly it was imperative that Crawley got out of there at once. 

Beside him, Aziraphale was talking softly to Mary, and Crawley reached over and tugged the angel’s sleeve. 

“You really are welcome to move into the main building, you know,” continued Aziraphale, unheeding. “The friends I invited won’t be joining me after all and it does seem rather a shame to stay here.”

“I don’t think so, thank you,” said Mary. She smiled at Aziraphale. “I think we’re happy here. Thank you for the blankets, though, sir. It’s very kind of you.”

“If you’re sure?” asked Aziraphale. Crawley tugged again, harder this time, before he got the urge to do something stupid like fall on his knees and start crying or praying or something.

“Come on, Angel!” 

Reluctantly Aziraphale allowed himself to be led back outside, still wringing his hands anxiously. “I suppose I have to respect a mother’s wishes, but surely it would be more sensible for them to come indoors.”

“Seemed all right to me,” muttered Crawley. 

The sun was over the horizon now, and Crawley took a deep breath of fresh air in relief, looking out at the ordinary pale block houses spilling down the hill, the olive trees throwing long shadows across the scrubby soil. The world hadn’t changed entirely, not yet at least, and that was a comfort. He was getting to be pretty fond of the place.

“But it isn’t right for him to be out there in a manger!”

Crawley pondered it. “I think it’s quite poetic. The son of Almighty God, born in a humble stable. Makes a better story if you ask me.”

“Does it?” asked Aziraphale, looking hopeful. Sunlight caught the edges of his hair, fluffed out of all composure by now, and illuminated it like a halo. “I suppose you could look at it that way. Humility, humanity, and so forth. I wonder if Gabriel would buy it? He might. Do you know I really think he might. Oh, thank you, Crawley, you're an absolute saviour!”

Crawley grinned. It was charming, and somehow typical, that with the literal, actual, newborn Saviour a few yards away from them, Aziraphale could still say something as unwittingly blasphemous as that to a demon. It felt rather satisfying, like a warm glow in Crawley's belly that he didn't entirely understand. 

“Merry Christmas, Angel,” he said, and winked.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to ruto for a last-minute beta, and a happy winter holiday to anyone who is celebrating!


End file.
